


rhythm & blues

by shelikescookies, yikesmikey



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut?, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Mental Health Issues, More tags to be added, Murder, Rating will change as chapters progress, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake is self-destructive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-03-05 22:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelikescookies/pseuds/shelikescookies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesmikey/pseuds/yikesmikey
Summary: Tim messed up. Bad.Jason's the only one who understands.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
  
This was supposed to be a normal day.  
  
The meeting he would have attended at Wayne Enterprises got cancelled, he was all caught up on his school work, he just closed a months-long case. He had a free night for patrol.  
  
Things were good. Really good.  
  
Until they weren't.  
  
  
  
Tim's eyes were glued to the red puddle slowly creeping towards him. In the dark alley it almost looked black. The uneven brick wall was digging through the fabric of his uniform.  
  
It was cold, bringing the warm stickiness of his hands and face to his awareness. His breath was visible tonight.  
  
"Oh, my God."  
  
A familiar voice cut through the chilling silence, echoing off the damp brick walls. There were fast, panicked footsteps and then Nightwing was there, blocking Tim’s view. He couldn't see the man on the ground anymore, but he knew he was there. He would always be there.  
  
“Hey, are you alright? Red, talk to me. Are you hurt?"  
  
Hands touched his cheeks and turned his head, looking for cuts or bruises. He wouldn’t find many.  
  
And yeah, he saw Nightwing; blue mask, white lenses, red cheeks, dark hair falling into his face. But Tim's brain was still busy trying to process  _what h_ _ave I done?_ His big brother in costume wasn't a priority right now.  
  
Nightwing clicked his tongue and began searching his body for injury. He visibly stilled once his eyes landed on Tim's hands, still hugging himself. His brother gently pried his hands from his arms and surveyed the blood they were covered in.  
  
"Is that yours?”  
  
No reaction.  
  
“Come on, Tim, is that yours? I need to know what happened here."  
  
And Tim reacted for the first time since he crawled away from the man _. H_ _e's alive right? He has to be, I saw him breathing, is he breathing, please, fuck—_ and his gaze fell to his hands. Completely drenched hands. As he stared, they began to tremble until they were violently shaking, just like the rest of him.

  
That's when everything came crashing down.  
  
  
  
The scream, he’d heard a scream and investigated. He found a man - a big man - cornering a woman, his hand in her long hair and a dirty grin on his face. She had her keys between her fingers, but it wasn’t doing much for her now.  
  
Thankfully, it didn't take much to distract the man long enough so the woman could get away. She was gone in seconds.  
  
He wasn't happy about that.  
  
The man drawled about how he ruined his night and that he'd have to pay for it; same spiel Tim had heard a dozen times before.  
  
This time was different though.  
  
The fight— the fight was surprisingly short. The man was unexpectedly strong and experienced. He overpowered Tim in no time at all, pinning him to the ground. His hand around his throat, constricting his airways. Tim couldn't breathe, couldn’t quite force the air into his lungs. Whatever he tried, the man wouldn't budge. He was way more experienced than he looked.  
  
With his oxygen running out, Tim began to panic. He knew, realistically, he’d survived worse. Red Robin has been through worse, and made it out alive. But still, a part of his brain kept telling him _Th_ _is_ _is where I’ll die, one hundred percent. It's done. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry—_  
  
The man above him shifted and produced a knife seemingly out of nowhere. The smell of his breath was making Tim sick when he leaned down.  
  
“Such a pretty thing, it's a shame.”  
  
As the knife touched his cheek and cut into his skin, his only thought of condolence was ‘at least he's only going to kill me.'  
  
Thank god his body worked better under pressure than his mind, however, because his body moved subconsciously and he managed to free his legs from the man's weight. He kicked him in the stomach as hard as he could.  
  
The man finally staggered and his grip loosened. Tim bent his legs back far enough to aim a kick at his head - and it hit.  
  
The hand was wrenched from his neck as the man reached for his clearly broken nose, spitting curses at him. Tim was on his feet fast, but the man was still not giving up. He swung at Tim with the knife, missing him by a hair. There was nothing Tim could do. He saw no opening. The man was as predictable as a rabid dog and just as dangerous. Tim was shaking too hard to properly get his head together.  
  
So Tim did what seemed the most logical to him— he reached for his comm and called for Nightwing, crying for help. He was cut off by another wild swing, this time actually slicing through his costume, cutting his bicep. Tim winced at the sting, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't give up, couldn't run—  
  
Run.  
  
He could run. He's not in the right mind to win this fight. He could run, get out of there. He knows when to quit, now should be that time.  
  
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let this man get away.  
  
Then the man launched at him, and he wasn’t quite able to parry fast enough.  
  
His breath got knocked out his lungs as he found himself on his back again, the heavy weight cutting off his circulation. The cold touch of the blade brought him back with a gasp. Tim clawed at the man's hands with all his strength, just barely keeping him away from his throat.  
  
Tim heaved while the man laughed. A mean sound, now forever burned in the depth of his brain.  
  
His mind was running a thousand miles an hour. He needed to find a way out of this, and fast.  
  
So, Tim tried something he’d only ever seen Jason Todd do. He spit on him.  
  
It must have done something, because the man was thrown off for just long enough for Tim to use the momentum to flip them over.  
  
Somewhere between being on the ground and being on the man Tim found his neck nicked by the knife. Not too deep, but deep enough to feel.  
  
He straddled the man's waist, forcing his large, dirtied hand to the ground and snatching the knife. When he looked down, Tim saw the anger in the man's eyes.  
  
Without thinking, he brought the knife down, stabbing the blade into his chest. The flesh split in a way that made Tim’s blood turn to ice. The man made a guttural choking sound. Still, panic rose in Tim once more as the man tried to lift his hands, to push him off.  
  
Out of shear instinct, he tore the knife out with a hiss and plunged it back into the man’s chest again. And again. And again. And again and again _and again and again—_  
  
  
  
"Tim, hey, calm down! Come back to me, okay?"  
  
He couldn't breathe. He was hyperventilating, but he couldn't— breathe.  
  
"Dick— Dick, is he alive?", Tim panted between breaths. "Is he— is. He's… He's just. He’s just unconscious, right? Dick, he’s alive—"  
  
Tim kept staring at the blood on his hands. _Not his_ , his mind unhelpfully supplied, _you did that_  
  
"Tim…"  
  
Just one word was enough to break him.  
  
Dick gathered him up in his arms and held him close as Tim choked and sobbed out his confession.  
  
“ _I did it. I killed him, I'm a murderer. What do I do? What's going to happen? Oh, God, what about Batman? I killed him, I killed him, I—_ “  
  
"Sssh," Dick tightened his hold around his arms. "It's going to be okay, I promise, alright? I'll take care of it, don't worry. It's fine. Tim, it's fine."  
  
They stayed like that for probably too long, until Tim calmed down to silent sobs against Dick's neck and the blood on his hands dried. Nightwing kept whispering reassuring nothings into his ear, glad to find it working.  
  
That's when Dick's comm chimed to life, filling his ear with Batman's demanding voice.  
  
"I'm with Red Robin," Nightwing answered and looked down at the young man in his arms.  
  
“He’s..." Dick paused to take a deep breath. "We're heading back to the cave. B, something happened."

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tim was tired.  
  
Admittedly, Tim was always tired, but this was different. This was the sort of tired that a good night's rest or a large coffee wouldn’t help. This was the sort of tired that sat deep in his bones, pulled at his mind until he was shaking on the floor.   
  
He was tired of this life. Tired of being responsible for other people like this. Tired of tonight.  
  
Bruce returned from his own patrol not long after Tim and Dick, meeting them in the cave. Even with the warning he got from Dick beforehand, anyone would've noticed something was very wrong the moment they stepped into the room.  
  
Immediately, he noticed the blood. It covered Tim’s hands and face like paint, giving his small physique a suddenly dangerous implication. The young man was curled in on himself, sitting with his knees to his chest on the floor. He was still in costume, but his domino had been ripped off, leaving a raw outline of skin around his eyes. He was staring blankly at his feet, like there was nothing but static behind his eyes. His face was paler than Bruce had ever seen it. He looked sick.  
  
Dick sat a few feet away from him, giving Tim the space he needed. He looked worried. Or scared. Maybe both.  
  
In the darkness of the cave, it looked like a horror film.  
  
Dick acknowledged him immediately, but Tim didn’t respond. He was in another world, and he might not be back for a while.  
  
“Bruce—”  
  
“That’s not his, is it.” He nodded towards Tim, where his bloody hands held his knees like they were a lifeboat. It wasn’t a question.  
  
Dick’s face fell. “No,” he said, dread twisting his stomach. He knew exactly where this was going.  
  
“And they’re dead?”, he asked, referring to whoever’s blood that once was.  
  
Dick opened his mouth to somehow disagree, but there was no point. The world’s best detective was bound to see right through him. Lying would only make things worse.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Bruce’s face was unreadable as always, especially behind the cowl, but Dick knew. He knew how those eyes must be looking. The same way they looked at Jason or Selina; like he didn't trust them. Like he didn't know them. Like they were _dangerous_.  
  
Dick looked down at his feet, when he glanced back up Bruce was already brushing past him, towards Tim. He watched as Bruce knelt down to Tim’s eye level, where Tim looked up but seemed to look right through him. At least he wasn’t crying anymore.  
  
Yet this was somehow worse.  
  
“Tell me what happened,” Bruce whispered, gaining no reaction from Tim. He wasn’t going to get an answer right now and he knew that.  
  
He pulled off his cowl, revealing his face. And God, did Tim wish he hadn’t. Seeing Batman condemn his actions was one thing, but seeing the same expression on Bruce?  
  
Those eyes. Those cold, accusatory eyes. _You’ve crossed a line_ , they said, _this is your fault_.  
  
Bruce reached out to touch the cut that would probably scar if not stitched, but Tim flinched away. He was on his feet in a second.  
  
“ _I can’t,_ ” Tim rasped, his voice quiet. Bruce couldn’t tell if it was an apology or a cry for help.  
  
“Tim!”, Dick called as the younger dashed from the cave. By the time he got up, Tim was already gone, off to God knows where.  
  
  
  
They wouldn’t see him for days.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
No one had really actually lived in the penthouse for a long time. Sure, Bruce used it sometimes if he was on business, sometimes Dick stayed for a night or two when he was back in Gotham. But no one actually _lived_  there until now.  
  
Tim would have chosen a safehouse, or even stayed in a hotel, but the penthouse felt the safest. He’d spent a lot of time there working cases or doing school work before The Incident, and it felt the closest to home for him.  
  
Besides, if Bruce knew where he was, he wouldn’t have to go looking for him. He could watch from a distance, which still wasn’t great, but better than hovering over his shoulder. Bruce had some really obsessive tendencies sometimes, and this was no exception.  
  
There were a couple bedrooms in the penthouse, but Tim had only ever used one. It was smaller, compared to the others, with one large window overlooking the foggy gotham skyline. This time was no different, apart from the black-out curtains being drawn 24/7, blocking the view. The room was filled with half empty take-out boxes and dirty clothes. Tim hadn’t left the penthouse in days, barely left the room.  
  
He always kept the front door locked, just in case. He knew he wasn’t the only one with a key, but it was to send a message more than anything.  
  
 _Leave me alone._  
  
He might have been three or four days since The Incident when Dick showed up. It was around 10pm when he knocked, but he didn’t get an answer. Tim wasn’t sure whether he had a key or if he picked the lock, but he got in just fine.  
  
“Tim? Hey, Timbo, where are you?”, he called.  
  
Tim groaned, pulling the sheets over his head. He wasn’t in the mood. He was a killer, and deserved to be treated like one.  
  
There were soft footsteps down the narrow hall and then Dick was knocking on the bedroom door softly. Tim groaned again, the door creaking as Dick pushed it open.  
  
“Hey… I brought you some of Alfred’s lasagna. I know how much you like it.”  
  
Tim didn’t move. He couldn’t. The room was dark, a dying yellow lamp in the corner the only source of light. And now, of course, the light shining in from the hall. Tim’s back was facing the door. He didn’t look over.  
  
“Go away, Dick.”  
  
Dick set the pan on the dresser next to the door. “You can talk to me, you know.” He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed.  
  
“There’s nothing to talk about.”  
  
“I know you think you’re some sort of monster. You’re not. It’s really not a big deal, that guy had it coming, you know.” Dick reached over to grab Tim’s shoulder, turn him around to face him. Tim pulled away, rolling away from him and sitting up on the other side of the bed.  
  
“Yes, it is a big deal! I crossed the line, I _killed_  someone, Dick! I’m no _goddamn_  better than they are!” His eyes were wet. His face was pale and the bags under his eyes were heavy. He obviously hadn’t been sleeping.  
  
“Hey, that’s not true—!"  
  
“Yes, it is! I broke B’s _only rule_. I could’ve— _should’ve_ — tied him up, or. Or something! I’m…"  
  
This was escalating way too fast for Dick’s liking. He reached out towards Tim in a motion that was supposed to be comforting. “Hey, calm down, okay? You’re turning into—“  
  
  
 _Smack!_  
  
  
The flat of Tim’s palm connected solidly with Dick’s face, leaving a red handprint on the older man’s cheek. Dick froze, his face turned to the side with the force of the hit.  
  
“Oh, my god. Dick, I’m. I’m so sorry, I didn’t—"  
  
Dick shook his head, slowly rising to his feet. “Don’t. It’s okay, I should leave anyways.”  
  
Tim watched helplessly as he reached the threshold of the bedroom. “Dick—“  
  
“Just. Eat something, okay?”  
  
The front door slammed shut a moment later as he left.  
  
And Tim was alone again, in the dark of the room.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone tell me how to write conflict pls


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
  
  
Sitting atop of a roof, letting his eyes sweep over the Blüdhaven skyline, Nightwing bounced his leg impatiently. He called _him_. Should be here already, but he wasn't and it was driving Dick insane.  
  
Of course this was all just a joke to Jason. He told him to come meet him — emergency — and Dick was lucky if Jason showed at all.  
  
With a groan Dick wiped a gloved hand over his face, flinched when he came in contact with his still sore cheek. It's been a couple of days since he went to visit Tim — something he hadn't done again, he sent Stephanie instead to check on him. But a nasty bruise bloomed on his face a day later. Huh, sometimes he liked to forget how strong Tim actually was.  
  
So how in hell did he lose the fight that night? Dick bit the inside of his cheek. No, Tim _didn't_ lose the fight. That was the point. That's why he was sitting here on that roof, waiting for the Red Hood to bless him with his presence.  
  
Still gently caressing the side of his face, over the fading bruise, he heard metal grab into the solid stonewall and a rope being pulled taut, and a second later a familiar figure vaulted over the edge. The newcomer holstered the grappling hook and stretched theatrically. Dick resisted rolling his eyes. When finally done, the Red Hood put his hands on his hips and turned to Nightwing expectantly.  
  
"I hope you got a good reason to leave my case to someone else, birdie," he said and stopped when he looked like he was going to continue. He approached Dick to take a closer look at his face and barked out a laugh once he saw the bruise. "Woah, 'you should see the other guy', right?"  
  
Dick cringed. Leave it to Jason and his loose mouth.  
  
"I hate to admit it, but you _are_ right." That peaked Jason's interest. "It's about Red Robin. He—"  
  
But Jason cut him off. "Wait, you're saying, I abandoned my case, which I had almost wrapped up by the way, to come here, because you said it was urgent. And it's about replacement?" Jason sighed. "And I thought it was _actually_ important."  
  
When Jason turned around to leave, Dick jumped up from his position and held him back by grabbing his sleeve. "He needs your help, Jason!"  
  
The younger man swatted his hand away and looked over his shoulder. Despite the helmet, Dick could sense the expression Jason wore underneath; tilted mouth, raised eyebrow, frowning.  
  
"How can I possibly be of help when you are the big brother? I'm just the outcast of the family, forget that already?", Jason taunted, bitterness evident even in the distortion of his voice.  
  
He started to stride away again, that's when Dick blurted out, "That's the point! He broke B's rule."  
  
Jason stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head far enough to show he had his attention.  
  
"He killed someone." It was still hard to say, even harder to internalize it was true. The whole incident felt like a horrible nightmare. To think it happened to Tim of all people…  
  
Dick didn't know if it was better or worse that he predicted Jason's reaction right. Jason turned back around swiftly, light on his feet as he stalked towards Dick again, but this time he seemed like a wild animal, a predator waiting for a wrong move — the perfect moment to strike. But Dick wasn't going to give it to him.  
  
"And why do you think that I'm the right person for that? Because I'm a killer? Because we can share our stories now and become best murder buddies? You guys barely keep _me_ around, I'm intrigued to see how long it takes for B to reject lil' Timmy too."  
  
"You stupid—"  
  
"Ah, ah. Didn't your mom teach you not to insult the guy you're trying to get help from?" He grinned under the helmet, Dick was sure of it.  
  
"If you stopped being an asshole for a minute you could actually help someone."  
  
Jason dropped his playful behavior and straightened his back. "I _am_ helping a lot of people. By doing what I do. If Timmy pulled that giant stick out of his ass, he should start, too, now that he's 'crossed the line'."  
  
Dick growled in frustration. Why was this man so difficult?  
  
"He can't. It's breaking him, Jason. This is not a game. He hasn't left the house in a week. He missed meetings, school, hasn't been on patrol. He's scared he'll do it again, that he'll _lose control_ again." Dick shook his head. He felt defeated. Like he was fighting a lost battle. Jason wasn't the kind of person to help out of the kindness of his heart, especially a person he resented. Especially Tim.  
  
"I know you hate it. Killing people." Jason turned around fully again and wanted to protest, but Dick didn't let him. "You hate it, even if they deserve it."  
  
They stood in silence for a while, each in their own thoughts. By the time he spoke up again, he was glad Jason was indeed still there, listening to him.  
  
"He doesn't need the 'perfect brother', or the ex-girlfriend. And good God, he doesn't need Batman." This time it was Dick who stepped closer, delighted to see the other didn't move back. "He needs someone neutral, someone who understands."  
  
Dick dared to touch Jason's arm again, glad he let him. He tried to look as pleading as he can with the domino.  
  
"You're the only one, Jason. Please."  
  
Letting his hand fall away, Jason crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back. As he let out an annoyed moan, Dick knew he could count on Jason's help.  
  
"Fine," he sighed eventually and Dick actively had to suppress a joyful smile. "Fine, whatever. But you owe me, 'wing. You owe me big time."  
  
"Thanks! Whatever you want, really." Jason's absurd wishes wouldn't dampen his victory.  
  
"Start by telling me what the fuck happened."  
  
Okay, he didn't expect his heart to skip a beat or the mean sting that followed. He should have expected that sort of questioning. In fact, he was surprised Jason took that long. He probably figured he'll find out sooner or later anyway, but now that he was involved, he'd better know what went down exactly.  
  
Hanging his head, Dick started recounting the events. "He was fighting a mountain of a man harassing a woman. She got away while they fought and the man overpowered Tim." No matter how often Dick turned that thought around in his head, it didn't make sense. Tim has fought bigger threats in the past than a single man, no matter how big or strong. What happened for Tim to lose control like that? Enough to lose? _Enough to kill?_  
  
"Tim managed to free himself and get the upper hand." Dick gulped and his voice began to tremble. "But then he stabbed him. Repeatedly." Even Jason tensed at that. "I looked at the file. They recorded twelve stab wounds, Jason, _twelve!_ That wasn't an accident. He freaked out!"  
  
"Fuck," Jason breathed and scrubbed the back of his neck, goosebumps raising on his skin. "Where is he?"  
  
Surprised and unsure if he heard him right, Dick lifted his head and regarded the younger vigilante curiously. "He's in… B's penthouse, up in—"  
  
"Got it," Jason chimed in, already armed with the grappling hook and walked towards the edge. This time Dick let him.  
  
Biting his lip in thought, Dick debated whether he should or not—  
  
"Hood!", he called and the man stopped long enough for Dick to say "Take care of him." before he jumped off the roof, advancing to Tim's location.  
  
  
  
Left behind on the cold rooftop, Dick stomped the crawling doubt, wondering if sending Jason right into Tim's despair was such a good idea after all.

  


* * *

 

 

When Dick told him Tim was freaking out, he didn't expect it to be at this extent. Yeah, he knew the infamous stories about Tim's untidiness, but that he'd trip over a shoe first step into the extremely dark penthouse, was beyond Jason's wildest expectations.  
  
And it only got worse the further he proceeded into the extensive apartment.  
  
"Hey, Replacement, are you here?", he called into the dark and cursed that he had to come in his civvies, leaving his trusted hood in his own apartment-slash-safehouse. Jason wasn't too bad seeing in the dark, but boy, Tim was really testing him.  
  
"Tim?", he tried again, crossing the living room area. There were empty takeout boxes everywhere, mugs scattered over the coffee table. Jason doubted there were still some in the cabinet. Thinking of which, he feared what he'd find in the kitchen, but considering the state of the living room — or battlefield, how Jason dubbed it secretly — the kitchen might actually be the cleanest space in the whole penthouse.  
  
Fighting down the urge to start cleaning immediately, Jason walked to the drawn curtains and pulled them open. Bright light flooded the room, effectively blinding Jason for a few moments.  
  
"Fucking bats," he cursed under his breath and slowly peeled his eyes open again, taking a look out the gigantic windows, overlooking Gotham's skyline. Somehow this city still managed to look like it was approaching nighttime when it wasn't even twelve o'clock yet.  
  
Yeah, sure, he wanted to come visit right after his conversation with Dick, but he still had stuff to do and he couldn't just turn up as Red Hood. And once he got home, he showered, made a sandwich and passed out in front of the TV afterwards. Sue him. So lil' Timmy had to wait another few hours. Big deal.  
  
Not like he would actually tell Dick, though. The little Robins were the big bird's everything and if he found out Jason didn't particularly care, especially when one of them was in the middle of a crisis, he'd definitely rip him a new one.  
  
Something Jason wanted to avoid at all cost.  
  
"Tim, I swear to God, answer!" Jason was yelling now and was getting more annoyed each second. "You better give me a sign you're still alive and didn't choke on cheap—"  
  
Jason furrowed his brows and took a look at the first takeout box he saw and groaned loudly. Fucking sushi. Of course. Replacement was allegedly losing his mind, but _no_ , little rich kid couldn't pass out on the goddamned _sushi._ Then again… Upon further inspection Jason spied a huge stack of cheap asian noodles and with a sigh he figured, the sushi was the best the kid treated himself since The Incident.  
  
"Okay, okay," Jason called and made soothing hand gestures even if there was no one there to see them. "I admit, I was mean, but really— please tell me you're still alive." Nothing in the world could've prevented the slight crack in his voice on the last words.  
  
Pushing open door after door, he finally reached the bedroom the same time he heard rustling behind the wood. A second later the door opened and there he was. Jason's eyes widened at the display.  
  
Tim looked even smaller than usual and he looked _horrible_. There was still a small sliver of hope that Dick was exaggerating, like the man tended to do, but seeing Tim like this actually broke his heart a little.  
  
The kid's face pale, eyes red-rimmed with heavy, dark bags under them. Like he was crying non-stop with minimal sleep. He was trembling violently despite the warm blanket draped over his shoulders, making him appear unbelievably fragile.  
  
"Leave me alone, Jason," Tim said with a hoarse voice. Was he screaming? Was he not drinking enough? Or was his voice simply rough from disuse?  
  
"No can do, Timmy," Jason offered and crossed his arms. He noticed how Tim wouldn't look at him, not even at his feet.  
  
" _Leave,_ " he stressed, clutching harder at the blanket. There were desperate tears welling up in his eyes. "I don't need your taunts right now."  
  
Before Jason got the chance to speak up and protest, the door was slammed in his face. He ignored the soft whimpers coming from the room he was denied access in, in favor of cooling his own nerves.  
  
_This is for his own good_ , Jason reminded himself, fingernails digging into his palms, _he's upset. That's normal. He'll come around eventually._  
  
Jason let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. Great start, Jay. Now, where to _actually_ start?  
  
He walked back to the battlefield and found that was a good place to start. Giving Tim the space he needed seemed like the best idea, but he wasn't going to leave him alone. Not now that he's seen the state Tim's in. It's a wonder that boy's still alive at all.  
  
And again, Dick's wrath was the least he wanted to call upon himself.  
  
So he gathered all the various boxes and put them neatly together in a bin. Next was all the other trash he found, packages from snacks and junk food. Boy, Tim was not living healthy right now. No wonder.

  
With all the garbage lying around taken care of, Jason moved to the mugs next, washing and drying them, putting each back in the almost empty cabinet. On his stay in the kitchen Jason found it wasn't as tidy as he'd hoped it'd be. Coffee stains _everywhere_ , plates where the food was starting to develop a conscience on their own, more empty packages from microwaveable meals.  
  
Jason closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Keep calm," he muttered to himself as a mantra and got to work.  
  
  
After the kitchen was squeaky clean again, Jason rummaged through the pantry to prepare an _actual_ meal with _actual_ vegetables. He even fried some meat he found. Once he finished two full plates, he set one on the coffee table in the living room, turned on the TV and took the remaining plate back to the bedroom Tim inhabited.  
  
He knocked politely and knocked again after there was no answer. This time he got a muffled call, probably telling him to leave. He knocked once more and allowed himself a small smile at the exasperated groan.  
  
The door flew open, Tim standing in the doorway, sans blanket this time. Jason's delight faded as his eyes fell on Tim's wet cheeks, though his expression didn't betray him.  
  
"What do you want? I told you to—"  
  
"I made food," Jason interrupted him and showed him the plate.  
  
Tim frowned. "I'm not hungry."  
  
Jason stopped the door with his foot before Tim closed it again. His gaze was stern and Tim gulped.  
  
"You'll need it. Eat — or I will _make_ you."  
  
Tim averted his eyes, weighing his options. Deciding he had no other choice, he reached for the plate, but Jason held it out of his grasp.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah," he tutted and smirked over Tim's obvious despair. "We're no barbarians." He threw his arm around Tim's shoulders and pulled him to his side. Tim squirmed and tried to dislodge Jason's arm, but to no avail.  
  
"Let me go, okay? I don't want that!"  
  
"Yeah, me neither, but here we are."  
  
Jason steered Tim towards the living room where the TV was running some mindless reruns of sitcoms no one watches anymore. He sat down and patted on the spot next to him. Tim growled low in his throat, but obliged and took the seat farthest from Jason. With a comment on the tip of his tongue, he sat Tim's plate on front of him and leaned back, fishing for the remote between the cushions.  
  
While he navigated through Netflix's selection, he noticed how Tim didn't touch his food, only stared at it.  
  
"Don't think I won't force-feed you, Timmy," he threatened, and Tim winced. His expression turned into a grimace and his hands balled up into fists on his lap.  
  
"Why are you doing this?", Tim pressed through clenched teeth, shaking all over.  
  
Even if Tim wouldn't meet his eyes, Jason looked over at him. "To make sure you survive through this crisis you're going through."  
  
The pillow hit him in the face faster than his brain caught up with Tim jumping from his seat. He was oddly out of breath as he stared Jason down.  
  
"There is no — no crisis!", he yelled, chest heaving.  
  
Jason simply put the pillow back on the couch and reclined back into the cushions.  
  
"Fine, whatever. No crisis then."  
  
Tim was taken aback, opening his mouth to say something, but there were no words coming.  
  
Getting pretty annoyed with Tim's impression of a dying fish, he threw the remote on the table and turned to the young vigilante.  
  
"Listen. We don't have to talk. You don't have to tell me anything. In fact, you're welcome to ignore my entire existence. But whatever it is you're going through, I won't leave you alone with it, alright? Because I know the feeling of loneliness and shitty coping mechanisms." Tim shrank while he spoke, hanging his head between his shoulders.  
  
"Now sit down and eat your fucking food."  
  
With a small nod, Tim sank back onto the couch and even picked up his fork. After prodding at the peas for a good amount of time, he scooped some up and ate them.  
  
Feeling deeply satisfied, Jason stood up and made his way to the kitchen one more time, fetching a cup of tea, he also placed down on Tim's side of the table.  
  
"For your throat," he said and got comfortable again. "You need to lay off the coffee, Tim, you need to actually sleep once in a while."  
  
Tim eyed the cup suspiciously and put his fork down. He paled slightly.  
  
"Did you lace it with something?", he asked, words wavering.  
  
Jason rolled his eyes. "I didn't. It's just tea with a bit of sugar." He leaned forward to grab his plate and took his first bite. "Though I brought sleeping pills, should you need them."  
  
He didn't have to look to know Tim was shaking his head.  
  
"Suit yourself," was the last thing he said before turning on some Marvel show he always wanted to watch and they dove into comfortable silence.  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

 

It was hard for Tim to get used to Jason’s company. Sometimes Jason thought, Tim still didn’t want him here — which was true, to be fair. Tim told him so several times over the course of the week, telling him to _leave already_. That he didn’t need help, he’ll get through this on his own — had gone through much worse.

 

So he claimed at least, and yeah, Jason knew Tim had to face a lot of difficulties along the way. Loss being one of the worst, but taking a life? After getting preached by B daily that it’s wrong? Getting indoctrinated that way and ending up doing the _Wrong Thing_ really got to Tim’s nerves, even if he didn’t want to admit it. But Jason noticed, and he wanted to help.

 

Still, it was pretty discouraging; trying to help someone who doesn’t want to accept offered support. It was hard to help someone who you barely know.

 

And Tim checked off both of those things.

 

Made only worse that Jason had to put his own life on hold, too. He’d spent the majority of his time in the penthouse, didn’t even leave to get changes of clothes — that Alfred brought over, along with groceries and what else could be needed. There was a freshly made meal in there as well, which he convinced Tim to eat, not like the lasagna he had to throw in the trash few days after his arrival.

 

He hated leaving Tim alone for too long. Jason was scared to go out on patrol on his own, being away from Tim, where he couldn't have a watchful eye over the kid. He knew Tim already dealt with depressive episodes, even well before he killed and he imagined this incident ramped his mental instability up by a hundred. So what if he came back one night and Tim was gone? What if Tim hurt himself? What if Tim got too desperate and hopeless, that he made a horrible decision, like he himself was troubled with most of the time still — and Jason wasn’t there?  
  
With thoughts like these, it was increasingly harder to focus on his job. His mind always drifted back to Tim and whenever he got too worried, he ran back to the penthouse to check up on him, relieved to find he was still in his bedroom. Crying, yes, but _alive_.

 

Getting Tim to cooperate was as fun as talking to a brick wall the first few days. After he coaxed Tim into eating dinner with him, Jason had faith everything would be fine after all. That light of hope was stomped the very next day, when Tim almost threw the entire door at him, _begging_ him to leave already. He hadn’t seen him for the rest of the day, but he still cooked dinner for him and put the plate in front of Tim’s locked door.

 

Jason figured Tim needed time. Time to adjust to what happened and that Jason was there to care for him. And Jason was fine with that, really. But then he noticed, that Tim didn’t leave the room at all. The door was shut and he was forced to trash dinner after dinner. He didn’t even know if the kid had enough to drink with him, or if the just drank from the tab from the sink of his ensuite. Safe to say, Jason was getting worried.

 

From time to time he could hear cries from the bedroom, ranging from silent weeping to full on screaming. The nights were the worst. Nightmares plagued Tim’s sleep, so much that Jason woke up regularly to knock on the door to ask if he’s fine and if Tim might wanted to talk about it. It didn’t surprise him that an answer never came, but most of the time, the cries stopped after Jason reassured he was there for him if he needed him to be. On a particularly bad night, he fell asleep in front of the door, waking with knots in his neck and shoulders and his ass was numb from the hard ground. Astonishingly he woke with a blanket draped over his body and the plate he left the evening before was empty beside him. Jason had smiled to himself.

 

Tim left his room more often now, but he still told Jason to fuck off and he still didn’t cooperate. He also got better at hiding his crying, teaching himself to be quiet apparently, as if he wouldn’t want Jason to know. But of course, he knew. The red cheeks and wet eyes were starting to look normal on Tim, marking his obvious pain.

 

But even after everything he tried, his efforts seemed fruitless and he was getting frustrated. A week passed and there was barely any progress in sight and Jason played with the thought to take Tim by his word and leave him. Not that he was getting much sleep anyway, but the penthouse couch was starting to get uncomfortable. Jason refused to move into one of the vacant bedrooms. His stay was only temporary and he _will_ be leaving soon, so he saw no need to make himself at home here.

 

Another day went by without seeing Tim and Jason was going crazy cooped up in this penthouse. The minor workouts didn’t cut it anymore to get rid of his pent up energy and he finally dared to leave the building, looking for excuses actually. Going out for food despite the fully stocked kitchen, buying snacks and the occasional drink. Going for a run. Anything, really, to keep him busy and his mind occupied. Babysitting Tim was feeling like a waste of time. If things weren’t getting better, he would call Dick, call this whole operation off. His patience was wearing thin, and he had better things to do than this.

 

The next day, Tim was once again in his room, since Jason had long given up on trying to keep him in the living room. It was pointless. That kid was one hell of a stubborn little shit.

 

Then suddenly there was a thump, shaking even the living room floor and a second later the bedroom door opened, revealing Tim stumbling out of the room, and Jason was on full alert.

 

“Hey, what’s—”

 

Tim rounded the corner then and Jason’s breath caught. The kid was shaking, his legs trembling so much he looked like he might collapse any moment now. His whole body was covered in sweat and his hair was disheveled in a way that should not have been as concerning as it was. He was heaving and sobbing, grabbing at his arms like he was trying to hold himself together.

 

Jason was on his feet the same time Tim was staggered towards him. They collided somewhere between the living room and the bedrooms. Jason found himself on his knees, Tim grabbing and pulling at his shoulders until they were both kneeling on the hardwood floor. Up close, Jason could see how red the kid’s eyes were.

 

He was sobbing and panting and mumbling things that sounded a whole lot like Jason’s name. He couldn’t do much more than hold him close, which Tim seemed more than thankful for. One arm wrapped around the other’s middle and the other in his hair, Jason had to heave his brain to catch up.

 

“Hey, hey. What happened?”, he whispered. Tim shook his head violently.

 

“Man, talk to me. What’s going on?” Jason tried his best soothing voice, the one he’d heard Dick use so many times.

 

Tim choked out another sob. “ _God, Jason_ —” His face was buried in his neck, voice a rough, garbled mess.

 

It took several minutes before Tim was able to calm down enough to form any coherent sentence other than Jason’s name.

 

“I, _fuck_ , it— a nightmare,” he panted eventually, holding onto the older man’s shoulders like he was a rock in the middle of the ocean.

 

Jason was dully aware of how this must seem to anyone looking in. He knew Tim had nightmares, but they were never that big of a deal. It couldn’t have been too bad, right? He stopped right there. He _knew_. He’d been there before, been too scared to sleep in fear he go back to that awful place. Been alone and afraid of himself — afraid of his thoughts and actions. He’d been there, and it wasn’t fun.

 

“I know, Tim,” Jason breathed. He held the kid tight, patted his hair. Because he _did_ know. He remembered what it was like and it was terrible.

 

He had to go through all that alone and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let Tim do the same.

 

“It— you,” Tim sobbed again, “you died, I—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, _sorry, sorry—”_ Tim was shaking his head, breathing hot and wet against Jason’s neck. Jason shushed him, held him, waited for the storm to calm.

 

“I _killed_ you,” Tim confessed, barely audible.

 

And, with a sinking heart, Jason understood.

 

* * *

 

There’s something strangely intimate about having suffered the same pain as someone else. For as little as they had in common, and as little as they knew each other, there was something there. Something that made Tim come out more often, sitting just a little closer than he had to. Something that made Jason stick around the penthouse. Something that kept them together through all the pain and misery.

 

It was sort of poetic, really. Jason had spent so long distancing himself from the bats, and here was was. Funny how life works sometimes.

 

After Tim’s nightmare and his confession, things started to get a little better between them. Tim would hang around in the living room, would make an effort to sleep and eat better. Hell, he’d even watch the ridiculous movies Jason brought. _Some Like It Hot. Moulin Rouge. Dirty Dancing._

 

While shuffling through the small stack of DVDs, Tim laughed. “Why do you have all these, man? _Sleepless in Seattle_? Really?”, he asked, a genuine smile on his lips, and Jason figured, it was worth it.

 

However, things changed when Tim found his rosary.

 

Jason toweled off his face, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. The steam from the shower clouded around him, weighing the small bathroom down in humidity. He tugged his boxers on and smudged away the mist on the mirror with the flat of his hand. In the small window of clarity on the mirror, he actually looked at himself for the first time in days.

 

It was a sad sight, bit it always had been.

 

Ignoring the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble on his face, he slipped on his sweats and opened the bathroom door. He was just pulling his tank over his head when he saw him. Tim, on the couch, with Jason’s leather jacket in his lap and the rosary in his hands. He was fiddling with the beads as he noticed Jason’s eyes on him. He froze.

 

“Jay. Hey, I was was just…”

 

Jason shook his head and walked towards the couch. “Give it to me,” he demanded. His voice was harsher than he’d intended, but he meant it. That was personal, and Tim had no right to go looking through his shit.

 

“I just didn’t know you were religious, is all. I didn’t mean—” Jason grabbed the rosary from his hands, putting it in the pocket of his sweatpants.

 

“Don’t talk about it.”

 

“Jason, it’s not a big deal, you don’t have to—”

 

_“Drop it.”_

 

Tim shut right the hell up. He took Jason’s jacket off his lap and set it on the arm of the sofa.

 

After a few moments of consideration, Jason sat down next to him. Another minute passed before the started talking.

 

“It got me through some dark times. It keeps me grounded. Just—” He let out a shaky breath. “Don’t go passing fucking judgement.” He wouldn’t meet Tim’s eyes.

 

Tim nodded quickly. “I wasn’t. I would never.”

 

They sat in silence for a while. Maybe too long, but Jason had nothing to say.

 

“Who taught you to pray?”, Tim asked, breaking the spell. Jason glanced at him, a frown etched on his face. “I mean,” Tim coughed, “it sure as hell wasn’t Bruce and… Well, you don’t seem the type to seek out God. So, who?”

 

Jason hesitated, weighing his options. He picked at his cuticles, rolled his tongue in his mouth. Stalling.

 

“Someone from before Batman,” he said, finally. Then he shrugged and tried to play it off like it was somehow funny — laughing in a hollow echoey way that tugged at Tim’s gut.

 

Tim narrowed his eyes, but he dropped it.

 

It was a secret for another day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would be absolutely fucking demolished if cookies wasn't here to edit my chapters  
> -mikey


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, this baby is not abandoned!

 

It was time for Jason to admit that things were going good — great actually. Witnessing his efforts bear fruit was doing wonders for his ego, and for the economy within the penthouse. 

Another week passed and it felt like a month to Jason, maybe more, but the progress Tim made was astonishing. Hanging out with him more often than not, favoring it over holing up in his room alone. Eating frequently and Jason even managed to get him down from his caffeine addiction. Definitely an experience Jason wasn't keen on repeating. Adding to Tim's distress by refusing to give him coffee? Bad call. But a necessary one, and since Tim wasn't artificially keeping himself awake and running, his overall complexion looked so much healthier. 

One of Jason's favorite things — something he would never admit to save his life — was the sound of Tim's laughter. He barely heard it before everything went to shit and he definitely didn't hear it when Tim was in his dark place, but over time and with a lot of patience, Tim actually let a rare smile slip over a stupid joke Jason made. Or when he complained about whatever and exaggerated with wild gestures that Tim found amusing. (An additional detail Jason noticed — no matter what he was doing, he had Tim's whole and undivided attention. The kid was hanging on his every word and followed every movement with avid interest. It was safe to say, Jason didn't know yet how to deal with it.) 

The most he heard from Tim was when they were watching their regular movies or tv shows and Jason introduced him to the wonderful world of comedians. While Tim claimed these shows were terrible and really _not_ funny, Jason simply brushed him off and said 'you just haven't your right one yet'. Sighing like he carried the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, Tim bundled back up in his 'safety blanket', as Jason called it, and prepared himself for an afternoon full of cringe. It didn't take long for the young man to be absolutely enticed and Jason almost jumped from his seat as Tim unexpectedly burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he held his belly and there were even tears escaping his eyes. And infected by Tim's outburst, Jason found, yeah, tears from laughing too hard were the only tears he only ever wanted to see on Tim's face again. Jason wasn't paying attention to the show anymore as watching Tim's reactions were that much more hilarious and endearing. 

 

Unfortunately the progress was limited to the waking hours only, seeing as Jason may serve as a perfect distraction but it wasn't like they were actively working through Tim's trauma and that particularly showed in the night when they parted into their designated bedrooms. (Yes. Ugh. Jason was sick of the couch, it was _uncomfortable_ and he had _standards_ , for fucks sake! He swallowed his pride and eventually moved into the spare bedroom right next to Tim's. For his comfort only, he lied to himself.) 

Jason was able to set his clock after when Tim's nightmares began. There was an hour of silence, perhaps half an hour of which Tim actually slept and always around the 11pm mark, Jason started hearing Tim's whimpers and silent cries. At first Jason thought, it wasn't that bad. Of course he had nightmares, big deal. They _all_ had them, and while Tim's were especially bad at the moment, they would pass and Jason took to going back to sleep. Something he changed fairly quick in their little predicament as Tim's whimpers changed into pained moans and then full on screaming. He got used to it and he got used to soothing Tim in his sleep by talking to him to calm down and that's okay. Going from sleeping in front of Tim's room to sitting next to him as he gently ran his hand through his hair until he relaxed enough that Jason went to his own bed again. 

So when Tim screamed like he was murdered right next door, Jason merely huffed a breath and stood up, left his warm bed to go knock on Tim's door. It was a principle thing, he never got an answer and never will, but he didn't want to just barge into the room. Common sense. He opened the door and was greeting with a familiar sight — Tim lay tangled in the sheets, fingers threatening to rip his blanket from grabbing it too hard and he thrashed. Thrashed like he was fighting against a much stronger foe. _Might not be too far off there_ , Jason mused silently and approached the bed like so many nights before. He sat on the edge, one leg folded under him as he laid a hand on Tim's and started to shush him, like he would a crying child. Tim reacted to his touch but didn't wake up. 

"Tim, it's okay. You're safe. I'm here with you. Sssh, you're safe. _You're safe._ " And while his violent struggles died down with his words, Tim's crying only picked up and the tears stained his already drenched pillow. 

Jason moved to cup his cheek and wiped away the falling drops. "Everything's alright, Tim. No one can get to you. Not while I'm here. I'll protect you, okay?" 

With a last sob, Tim's eyes shot open with a gasp, fighting for air. It wasn't uncommon for him to wake up while Jason comforted him, but he grew pretty good at talking him back to sleep. 

"You're safe," Jason repeated, now that Tim was conscious to actually process those words. "I'm here, you're safe." 

Glaring up at Jason with tears blurring his vision, Tim nodded once the meaning sank in and he sniffled as Jason kept drying the tracks on his cheeks. He wasn't in the mood to talk about it, that much was obvious, but he turned to lie on his side, facing Jason and pulled the blanket in place. 

Jason wasn't deterred by the motion, rather spurred on and he watched Tim's breathing smooth out as he went back to stroking his hair. Soon Tim's eyes slipped shut again and his hiccups from crying receded, leaving him sleeping in peace once again. 

At least that's what Jason thought he did, because as soon as he removed his hand and rose from his seat, there was a hand holding onto his sweats in a death grip, and Jason looked down to find Tim staring at him with comically wide eyes. Jason read nothing but pure and unadulterated fear in them. 

"No, no no," Tim whimpered and his hand was shaking. "Don't — please, _don't!_ " 

The crack in Tim's voice was breaking Jason and he softened his features. "Timmy, I'm not going far. If there's something, I'm next door, just a few feet away. But I'm so fucking tired, man." 

Tim's nightmares were taking their toll on him too, after all. Evident by the dark circles forming under his eyes from night after night spending up to hours to sooth the kid. 

But Tim was shaking his head and if Jason tried to pry his hand from his pants, Tim only tugged harder, almost pulling the whole thing down his legs. 

"Don't, no. Don't leave me," Tim sobbed after Jason loosened his hand and suddenly he went limp in his grasp, breaking down completely. 

Still holding onto his hand, the man threw his head back and cursed colorfully under his breath. Finally let out a groan of despair and sat down on the bed, again. 

"Fine," Jason spat and nudged Tim's shoulder. "Move your fucking ass outta the way." 

Tim made a confused sound and it evolved into a surprised yelp as Jason shoved him backwards and just — flopped down next to him! Having been given no time to process this whole situation, Jason put an arm around his form and pulled him closer. Almost automatically Tim rested his head on Jason's chest, frozen in place. 

This was unknown territory for both of them and while Jason's face was heating up, he felt Tim's own warmth seep through his shirt. 

"J-jason—" 

"Shut up." Despite the intended hostility, his words came out rushed and breathless. "Go the fuck to sleep, and _no_ word about this, _ever_." 

Thankfully the kid heeded his warning and Jason ignored the fact that he snuggled even closer, his breath on the neck spreading goosebumps over his entire body. If Tim noticed his hand going a little tighter on his waist, he didn't say it. 

 

* * *

 

_"BAD FUCKING TIMING!"_

Jason screamed at Dick the second their comms connected. _Ouch_. 

Dick pouted like a little kid. Why was _he_ always the one getting yelled at? He's just worried about his family! He's allowed to contact them when his thoughts grew over his head, okay!? 

The all too familiar fighting sounds reached through the microphone and tired of waiting patiently, Dick plopped down on the ground of the roof and idly traced a pattern with his finger. When the fighting didn't cease and the shouts and punches were starting to annoy him, Dick groaned and flicked a tiny pebble over the edge. 

_"Ha ha, you got enough already— MOTHERFUCKER!"_

Dick wanted to chastise Jason to watch his language, but a gunshot interrupted him. Instead of worrying, his mood soured severely. 

"Are you serious right now? You're supposed to be a role model and not shoot around blindly!" 

_"THEY ARE SHOOTING AT ME, DICKHEAD!"_ , Jason screamed and Dick sucked in air. Oops. 

When Jason assumingly reached for his own gun, Dick clicked his tongue. 

"Rubber bullets, please." 

_"Fuck you,"_ Jason hissed, but Dick heard him switching his guns nonetheless. 

With an easy smile on his lips, he kept listening to the fight that now turned less lethal on their side and tried to picture how Jason was holding up. Who was he fighting? How many, and why was Jason having trouble with them? 

The last kick hit and the body fell to the ground whining and insulted. 

_"Fucking—"_ The comm cut off as the mic couldn't pick up loud enough sounds to transmit as his brother proceeded to tie the guys up and quickly called up the GCPD. 

Out of boredom, Dick had started singing. Some pop song he heard on the radio today while driving home from the station. 

Jason was obviously annoyed by it as he stopped him with an angry, _"I swear to God, if you don't stop now—"_

Dick replied with a chuckle and waved him off, despite being alone on the roof. "Calm down, little wing—" 

_"Don't call me that."_

"I wanted to know how you're doing. You and Red, I… I didn't hear from you in a while. Since I put him into your care, actually. And I was…" He lowered his voice. "I'm worried, Jason. Please talk to me." 

There was a groan on the other end, but Dick knew he didn't mean it. 

_"He's fine, so don't break your pretty head over nothing. And no, I did not kill him nor did I get him addicted to sedatives, thank you very much, I know you were thinking that."_

"Wasn't," Dick mumbled quietly and followed with a cough. "Anyway! I'm glad you're okay. And… well, there's more. I looked into B's files and I found out who the victim was. B's nothing if not thorough, so if you like I err, I can send you the file. There's some pretty heavy stuff in there, but maybe it puts Red's actions into perspective and — I don't know. I just thought—"

_"Send them. Sounds like a real dick and I like knowing it was justified for such an asshole to get killed."_

"It's _never_ justified, Jas—" 

_"Tch, save it, 'wing. No one wants to hear that shit. Send the fucking file, I'll read it, say 'I told you so' and we can all go home. See you at Saturday's dinner, Sharon."_  

Then the connection cut off and Dick was left reminding himself that _yes_ , this is worth it. 

 

* * *

 

Once Jason arrived back home — at the _penthouse_ , fuck — he checked his inbox on his laptop for new mails and indeed, there it was. From N. Inconspicuously labeled _'The Thing we talked about'_. 

Jason blew out air and opened the file, automatically saving it on the hard drive. 

The file consisted of the well known profile information that B set up for everyone in the computer. Pretty sure there was one for every single one of them, too. The thought of cold, heartless profiles sitting in Bruce's database made his blood run hot through his veins. 

He scrolled down and found several certificates of his birth, marriage, jobs, _kids — shit_. Skipping over those, Jason reached the numerous, the literal shit pile of reports of commited crimes and even imprisonment for a couple of years. This man — Tucker Moore — wasn't only a registered sex offender, oh no, he stood in close contact with the police due to domestic abuse, assault, drug use and distribution, possession of illegal firearms and the good old violence against officers — just to name a few. 

By the time Jason was halfway through reading the reports that Tim emerged from the bathroom after taking a long needed shower. He was clad in one of Jason's shirts since his were all ready for the washing machine and Jason — Tim caught him in a good mood, alright! His own oversized pajama pants were dragging over the floor as Tim came over to him, still drying his hair with a towel. 

"What are you doing?", he asked conversationally and Jason's first instinct was to snap at him. He suppressed the urge however, since Tim had no way of knowing what he's reading. 

"None of your business," Jason said, turning to the screen again, moving to minimize the window for him to work on later after Tim went to bed. 

Tim sighed and lowered the towel, pinning the other with a disapproving glare. "If it's a case, I can help. I'm not… _useless_. Maybe I'm not — out there on the street but I can… If Barbara can do it, _I_ can do it." 

Jason met Tim's eyes and for a moment, a whole conversation passed between them, ending with the older bite down a groan.

"It's not a fucking case." 

"It has to be something. Did you see your face? The only time I saw it was when…" He cut himself off, not wanting to finish that sentence. Not when things were going so good. 

_The only time you saw it was when I looked at **you** , I know_, Jason mentally filled in for him and dread spread in his stomach. He understood. Oh, how he understood, but. 

Things were different now and he and Tim actually grew kinda close over the few weeks they spent together now and Jason felt remorseful when he thought about how he treated the other, not giving him the chance to prove himself or make an effort to get to know his replacement — _stop_. His _successor_.

"Let me help, please. I'm going crazy doing nothing and I'm sick of Bruce refusing to give me a case, Jason. What are you working on?" 

And when Jason clicked the taskbar to open up the files once more, Tim's delight was displayed on his face. He threw the towel in the general direction of the bathroom and rushed to Jason, falling down in the cushions next to him. Not entirely convinced that was a good idea, Jason lifted the laptop off his lap and into Tim's, letting him skip through the files of… of his victims whole life, both ups and downs. 

The expression on Tim's face changed exponentially once he realized what this was about and he threw Jason one last questioning look, perhaps desperate to hope this wasn't what he found it was. 

But Jason shrugged his shoulder helplessly and Tim dove into the files. Profile. Reports. The certificates. 

Tim was _radiating_ distress, like a scared animal trapped in a corner and the longer he read, the faster his breathing got. Regretting his choice indefinitely, Jason looked over Tim's shoulder —

And cursed as he saw the details about that shit's family specifically. He ripped the device out of Tim's hold, not at all surprised that he let it happen without protests. He quickly shut it down and put it away. 

Tim devolved back to hugging himself and his head hang low between his trembling shoulders. 

"Tim—" 

"He had children," Tim choked and dug his nails into his arms, leaving deep, red indents. "He — he had children and, and a wife and I, _God_ , I took him away, I — I, I killed him. I killed a father." 

"Wrong. You _accidentally_ killed a fucking criminal who probably didn't give two shits about his family." 

"You can't know that!" 

"I do!" Jason grabbed Tim's shoulders and forced the kid to look at him. "He was arrested multiple times for domestic violence, Tim. He hit his wife. He hit his _children_. There are fucking pictures of it, man! His wife must be — _ecstatic_ to finally be rid of him!" 

But Tim shook his head. "No! His, his children! It's always the hardest for the kids! I was neglected and it was hard for me! Your dad died and you must've been sad, too!" 

Jason wanted to tell him that wasn't true. He was sad when his mother died, but the happiest child on earth when they took his father away. 

"They were waiting for their dad to come home and I _killed_ him! I'm a monster!" 

"You," Jason growled, "are a fucking hero. _He_ was the monster. _You_ did the world a fucking favor by offing that piece of shit. You did your job. And you did it good." 

When Tim started whining and began to wiggle out of Jason's grasp, the man tightened his grip enough to hurt. 

"No, no, listen to me, Tim. What would've happened? Hm? You read the file, what would've happened if everything went as planned? You caught the bad guy, police comes in, takes him away. Best case, he gets prosecuted and due to his past crimes ends up in jail again. But for how long? He's a dirty bastard, backed by other dirty bastards and look! He's out again. Back to his family. And he's angry. And now tell me, who gets to pay for his little trip to Blackgate? Right. _His wife and children._ You're smart, Tim. You know I'm right."

Adrenaline made his skin tingle and his air intake increase, but the triumphant feeling of a great monolog was dampened by Tim's uncontrollably gasps and sobs. Now it was Jason's turn to grow desperate. 

"You saved them, man. You do that shit everyday. Only difference is that they will actually stay safe. Fuck B's stupid and outdated rule! Letting scum like him live will create an endless cycle and it achieves nothing! You _did_ something! It's Bruce who's wrong. And Dick, too. Fuck them."

Knowing this conversation is over and that Tim won't be able to stabilize anytime soon, Jason reached for him and cradled him to his chest. His shirt was soaked in seconds and Tim's fingers hurt on his back, but Jason didn't care. He held him, buried his face in his still wet hair and let the kid wear himself out. He knew he'll carry an exhausted Tim to bed later, crawl in after him and hold him until they both fell asleep. Since apparently that was the only time Tim got a decent night of sleep.

For now, though… There was nothing he could do. He'd already done enough. 

 

_You are a stupid fucking idiot, Jason Todd._

 

Fuck. 

 


End file.
